


The Sign of the Crimson Cross

by Gray_Days



Category: Pocket Monsters | Pokemon (Main Video Game Series), Pocket Monsters | Pokemon - All Media Types
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-03
Updated: 2013-01-03
Packaged: 2017-11-23 11:47:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,154
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/621792
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gray_Days/pseuds/Gray_Days
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The circumstances under which I first met Giovanni Sakaki were unusual, to say the least. Later, when I looked back on it, I was able to discern the most perfect concatenation of coincidence and manipulation which led up to that point and the events following, realising at that moment that everything to come had already been inevitable -- and I just a pawn in the great plan of my unseen player.</p>
<p>[Archer is the Watson to Giovanni's Holmes.]</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

The circumstances under which I first met Giovanni Sakaki were unusual, to say the least. Later, when I looked back on it, I was able to discern the most perfect concatenation of coincidence and manipulation which led up to that point and the events following, realising at that moment that everything to come had already been inevitable, and I just a pawn in the great plan of my unseen player.

However, let me first provide you with an idea of the circumstances. I was sixteen when I manoeuvred my way into the rank and file of Team Rocket after being present, though unobserved, during a robbery-at-gunpoint of one of the major banks in Saffron city, and admiring the military discipline with which they executed the job while at the same time noting numerous suboptimal factors in their performance that seemed obvious to no one but myself. At that age I was possessed with an extraordinary level of cunning, intelligence, and ambition, as well as a complete lack of regard for my fellow man. Therefore I joined Team Rocket with the aim of gaining power therein while being allowed to maintain without interruption certain hobbies of mine which society tended to frown upon.

Within four weeks I had already propelled myself through sheer deadly competence to the position of Elite Grunt, then six weeks later to that of Agent. With this mark of recommendation I was permitted to go into the field on my own, gathering intelligence or quietly expediting the progression of our goals. It took three field missions before I was promoted once more, this time to the exalted position of Elite Agent.

My superiors, by now, had recognised in me an incredible talent for deception, as well as for acquiring the truth from particularly stubborn targets. My missions during the next nine months made maximum possible use of these traits, earning me a reputation amongst my comrades as a formidable manipulator as well as something of a butcher. It was on one of these missions that I stumbled into an unfortunate situation, escaping only by luck and even then so badly injured that my first action upon rendezvous with my handlers was to faint straight away.

I awoke to an agonising headache, disorientation, and Team Rocket's esteemed leader himself, sitting quietly beside my cot and reading a slim black book devoid of any title or other identification. Without looking up, he wordlessly handed me a bedpan at the same moment my stomach rebelled and emptied itself shamefully in front of him. Before I could wonder what to do with the container of bile in my hands he had cocked a finger slightly and a nurse was already at my side to remove it. He turned a page desultorily.

I recognised the man before me, of course, from several rallies he'd held for the benefit of us foot soldiers - obvious propaganda, certainly, but I recalled being impressed by his rhetoric and the aura of total command that exuded from him even from across the arena. I had at that moment taken him both as my inspiration and the target of my ultimate ambitions. This was the first time I had met him in person, however, and I cringed to think that this would be his first impression of me.

The leader of Team Rocket, once I began to observe him objectively through the overwhelming aura of dominance that surrounded him, was a man of moderate height, intense countenance, and impeccable dress. His hands were heavy and muscular, but he turned the pages of his book with surprising delicacy; the same strange juxtaposition of strength and sensitivity was also present in his face in the thin eyebrows lining a heavy brow, sensitive lips matched with a powerful jawline and broken nose. His hair was dark and combed back, his eyes black. Rumor claimed that he came from an Italian bloodline, which I had been able to confirm via judicious research, but I was unable to find any clear evidence of it in his face.

He turned another page and said, "Is your impression favorable?"

Immediately I realised that I'd made the elementary error of failing to disguise my interest in him while he read. Unwilling to make a fool of myself any further, I reassumed my typical calm facade and said, "Yes, sir."

"Tell me."

My response was automatic, drilled into my mind over months of debriefings. "Late thirties, 175 cm, 80 kilos; good health, exercises rigorously. Wealthy enough to think little of wearing a bespoke Armani suit and Ferragamo shoes for mundane occasions. Cordovan leather; knowledgeable, values highest possible quality, not swayed by brand alone. Dangerous in business dealings. Intelligent enough and of dubious enough ethics to game the market in order to maintain wealth required for lifestyle. Ambitious, has power and seeks more, used to being obeyed. Pattern of wear on edges of soles indicates much time spent traversing rough ground, unusual for such dress. Doesn't scorn doing dirty work at times, capable of handling a fight, but no major scars - seldom needs to resort to such tactics. Firearm holsters at hip and chest; Beretta, by the grip, but I'm unfamiliar with the model. Ambidextrous, favoring right hand. Belt has clasps for Poké Balls, but none are present. Discoloration at base of fingernails indicates persistent exposure to Nidoran venom. Obsessive tendencies, counting and timekeeping."

A small smile curved those lips. He turned another page. Without looking up, he replied, "Agent Apollo, original name Archer Sagittaire. Birthdate November 16, 1971. 180 cm height, 65 kilos weight. Ambidextrous, careful not to favor sides. No regional accent. Obsessive tendencies. Far more intelligent and vicious than you let anyone learn. You overestimated my height," he added, "but by less than most. Estimable. You are also the first person I've ever met who has noticed my counting habit without knowing of it beforehand." Throughout his reply, his eyes had continued moving across the pages of the book without slowing. Now he closed the book without marking the page and tucked it into his breast pocket before meeting my eyes for the first time. "And if I'm not mistaken, you intend to take my position as your own."

My mind was thrown into a frenzy of surprise by that simple deduction, but years of masking my emotions came to my aid and I was able to meet the man's gaze with my own and reply, with total honesty, "I can imagine no more worthy ambition, sir."

My audacity earned me a deep chuckle from the impressive man, and he stood up from my bedside and picked up his hat and cane. "I expect to see you in my office once you've recovered, Archer Apollo Sagittaire. Don't disappoint me." He donned his hat and exited the medical ward while I was still floundering for some response to the whole shocking encounter.

At first I was inclined to think that the man intended to have me quietly killed for the treasonous sentiments he'd sensed in me, but common sense prevailed and I realised that I'd apparently managed to intrigue him by simple fact of my own nature. So it was that five days later I, still bandaged and limping, met Giovanni Sakaki for the second time in the office he maintained on our base.

The room in which I found myself was easily apparent as that of a man with myriad and wildly varied interests, as well as the intellect and ferocious drive to pursue them. Bookshelves lined two full walls from floor to ceiling, containing (at a glance) texts ranging from the subjects of astronomical physics and horticulture to the prewar history of Asia. These were, however, blocked by a wheeled blackboard whose surface was covered completely with proofs written in a strong hand and unknown cipher. Where his figurings ran off the edge of the board they simply continued on the nearest patch of empty wall in black marker. A violin on its stand had been moved aside to allow the continuation of these, beside which was a rank of oaken cabinets for storing samples, some of which were displayed above - a set of crystalline minerals of different shapes, a half-melted nickel meteorite, and an open box of marine fossils. Beside these was a barometer, needle wavering slightly as I shut the door behind me. On a whim, I looked up at the ceiling and found that what seemed to be a star chart, if one accounted for a lack of labels, had been drawn there in pencil.

Giovanni himself sat at an impressive walnut desk, antique to around the turn of the century if I was any judge. Its surface was covered with neatly sorted stacks of files and paperwork, squared off as if he'd laid out a grid for that purpose beforehand. He did not look up as I navigated the path to his desk. I stood patiently at attention for some time before he seemed to notice me and set his work aside to examine me thoughtfully from beneath those heavy brows.

"Can you conduct yourself in a formal setting, agent?"

It took me a moment to realise that he'd spoken. "Yes, sir," I replied.

"Good. Go see Officer Chiang and get yourself a suit. Black. Be back here in forty minutes."

With that abrupt dismissal, he returned to his work. I quickly gathered my wits as best I could and dashed out of that fascinating office to obey.

I made it back just under the forty-minute mark dressed like an undertaker all in funereal black, even to my shirt, vest, and necktie. Giovanni examined me critically for several moments before declaring me fit for decent company. He stood and swept out the door regally, bearing me along in his wake.

As we walked, he explained the situation. "We are about to engage in a negotiation with the three commanders of the Sarcosì family regarding a possible alliance in several areas of business in which we've traditionally been competitors. I believe you were instrumental in acquiring certain documents pertaining to these."

I should not have been surprised at his encyclopaedic knowledge of my work up to this point, considering the recitation he'd graced me with several days earlier. I hurried to catch up with him; despite my slightly longer stride, Giovanni walked with the same rigor and intensity that characterised all of his activities. "Yes, sir."

"It is unlikely that these men will recognise you from your time undercover. If they do, however, know that you are under the protection of Team Rocket, and they will not dare harm you unless you venture into their territory again. They won't let on to it if they do recognise you, in any case."

Hardly comforting. "Yes, sir."

We entered a spacious building of marble and steel. "You will not speak unless spoken to," Giovanni continued, "and even then, exercise consideration. Your record in this organisation bespeaks your discretion, but I dislike taking risks without reason. Here we are," he added, and we stopped at a heavy mahogany door. He put his hand on the knob and paused. "Apollo. Out of the line of sight."

Surprised, I did as ordered. Giovanni stood to the side and gently uncaught the latch, allowing the door to swing ajar slightly. Nothing happened, but he did not yet enter; I caught a glint of light and saw that he'd detached a small mirror from the top of his cane and was angling it to look inside. Apparently deciding that it was safe to enter, he opened the door all the way and beckoned me in behind him.

The room beyond was of the modern school of expensive decor, understatedly ostentatious in marble and glass, with floor-to-ceiling picture windows blocked by heavy curtains of ruched damask silk. These lent the room a dimness relieved somewhat by low lamps whose light was absorbed by the dark plush carpeting. The glass table in the center was surrounded by deep, high-backed leather chairs.

All this my mind tallied up automatically. My attention, instead, was on the two men occupying the room - or, rather, their corpses. The first was still sitting askew in his chair, canted bonelessly to one side with the veins standing out purple-black against his neck. He was military in appearance, with a square, scarred jaw and close-cropped hair. His eyes were open and glassy, staring at the ceiling. The second man had apparently managed something of a struggle before dying: his chair was tipped over on its side, beside which he was sprawled facedown on the floor, his limbs contorted randomly like a rag doll's. The single hand that he'd flung out was outfitted with clawed silver rings on each finger.

Giovanni pulled on a pair of thin black gloves and walked around the table to examine the corpses in minute detail. I watched diligently as he sniffed the men's breath, inventoried the contents of their pockets, checked under their clothing for marks. When he peeled back the second man's claws, I could see that the skin beneath his fingernails was tinted the same ugly purple-black.

Finally my leader stood again, removing his gloves and stowing them again in a hidden pocket. He caught my eyes and gestured in rapid sign language: "Bug under the first chair." I nodded; I had seen it as well. Giovanni led me out of the room and back out onto the streets outside before speaking again.

"Vileplume poison," he said. We continued walking as he spoke. "No sign of the method of delivery, or of Capodecina Adolfo. A diverting mystery, indeed."

As we turned a corner, a sleek black car overtook us and slowed to a stop a few feet away. Giovanni opened the passenger door and slid inside, taking for granted (rightly) that I would follow suit. The car began moving again as Giovanni lit himself a cigarette. "Disgusting habit," he commented. "Take note, Apollo. Never allow yourself to become enslaved by dependency to anything outside your own body and mind. There will come the day when you must forego it, and there will be a vulnerability where there should be strength."

"Yes, sir," I murmured. I did not ask why, then, he himself chose to indulge in such a vice. Perhaps, one could speculate, he was purposefully handicapping himself, knowing that there was no person in the region who could otherwise provide him an adequate challenge. (It was only a matter of years, of course, before things changed; but I am getting ahead of myself.)

Having drawn deeply of his cigarette, he returned to the topic of immediate importance. "Note. Capodecine di Greppi and Iacovelli died only minutes before our arrival, ten or fifteen at the most. It takes another ten or fifteen minutes for Vileplume toxin to take effect. I pride myself on arriving early to my meetings, yet the two men were already dead and the site of the assassination cleared by the time we arrived."

"It could not have been a mere error in targets," I offered. "Both men were poisoned, yet no one knew that Lord Giovanni would be bringing a companion, nor would it be reasonable to expect your arrival so long before the scheduled meeting time."

Giovanni gave me a minute nod of approval. "The whole matter was orchestrated very purposefully. The area was cleared before our arrival, but the bodies left for us to find. And no sign of Adolfo." He frowned. "Either someone thinks I am a fool and means me to believe that Adolfo betrayed his fellows, or they wish me to believe that they believe I am a fool, while their true motives remain unknown to me."

"If it's a double-blind by Capodecina Adolfo, it's a ridiculous one," I commented.

He groaned and inhaled on his cigarette savagely. "Don't even mention that possibility!"

"Yes, sir," I said meekly.

My master pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. "Ignore that. I brought you along for your insight, Apollo, and I wish you not to censor yourself during my discussions with you."

I almost asked whether he spoke truthfully when my mind thankfully overtook my idiot tongue. Instead, I awkwardly attempted to meet my superior's expectations of me, suddenly far more intimidating a prospect than it had been moments ago. "For what reason would they have left a bug?" I asked, realising an aspect of the scene that niggled at me even given the oddness of the entire situation. "The Sarcose had no need to hide whatever they wished to record of themselves; did their murderer expect them to discuss anything of worth in the few minutes between their poisoning and their death? Or rather, was the bug meant for us?"

Giovanni crumpled the cigarette in his hand and rolled it between his fingers moodily. "A third party...?" he murmured. My knowledge was insufficient in regard to the intricacies of Team Rocket's web of alliances and opponents for me to comment; instead I held my tongue, waiting for him to finish the thought.

"Too many variables and no evidence to point the way." The remains of the cigarette were becoming shredded. "Aggravating. I do not enjoy finding myself in the dark." Despite his words, however, I noticed that his eyes had gained a light to them that I had only seen briefly during our first conversation, and his lips had curled back to reveal teeth.

The remainder of the trip was spent in silence, Giovanni brooding smoulderingly to himself and fondling the abused remains of his cigarette. His countenance could have been cut from stone, so sharply were its contours defined in the half-light of the car's interior. After a twenty-minute interval, our conveyance stopped at the gate to a private garage and, after a pause, was permitted inside.

A silent black-uniformed grunt held open the door for me, and I took the invitation and stepped outside. Giovanni, having done the same, caught and held my eye over the roof of the car. "Find Adolfo," he commanded. "Report directly to me when you do. I want no middlemen involved in this." Thus releasing me, he turned to leave.

I set out to perform my task, dressing drably in the fashion of the many manual labourers and miscellaneous hires that littered the cities, men abandoned by a nation still unrecovered from a war now four decades past. Separating me from these lost souls were a pair of crepe-soled shoes more suited to burglary than to labour, a pen-sized camera, and a set of extremely expensive lock-picks.

I had just broken my way into the Capodecina's private appointment-book when the sounds of alarm and pounding feet outside the office's door sent me speedily replacing everything as I'd found it and escaping through a ceiling panel as quickly as I could. On my arrival back onto the street outside I discovered the typical foot traffic of workers and civilians stopped on the sidewalks, clustered into small groups that glanced sidelong at the uniformed police who seemed to spring from every available cranny, shepherding people out of the way and themselves equally alert for information. It did not take me long to gather from their quick snatches of gossip that the very man I sought had just been shot by police enforcers, though not before taking three down along with him.

I arrived at the door to Giovanni's office unsure of what to expect, conscious of the fact that I'd failed him - though how I could have done better I hardly knew. The strains of violin music emanated from behind the door for several minutes after my knock before they ceased and the heavy voice of my master proclaimed, "Enter."

I encountered him there reclining behind his desk with the violin I'd noticed earlier across his knee, the bow dangling from his opposite hand as he glared at the wall moodily. "I've seen the coroner's report," he said, playing out a slow harmonic minor as he spoke. "Vileplume poison again. The gunshots occurred perimortem, but it's impossible to tell which was the cause of death." He finished off his statement with a vengeful flourish of the bow.

"The firefight was staged," I answered slowly. Giovanni nodded, picking a thoughtful pizzicato melody from the strings. "Suicide...?"

A shake of the head, accompanied by a sharp minor chord. "He was taken by surprise. An anonymous tip. Drew on the officers at the scene, attempted to escape."

I conjured the glimpse I'd gotten of Adolfo's appointment-book to mind, and a certain detail caught my notice. "The Capodecina had an appointment for 15:00 today. Just a title, 'La Traviata', with a red cross written to the left of it. Upright, like the cross on the Swiss flag."

My observation was rewarded with a flourish of the violin. "The shootout occurred from 14:52 to 14:55 on the top floor of the parking lot for the NHK Hall," my master confirmed, "as Adolfo was exiting his car. Yet the 3:00 concert scheduled for today was of the Tokyo Philharmonic, playing Mendelssohn. The title has some other meaning."

"The location," I heard myself say. "La Traviata was the second--"

"--performance held at the NHK Hall," Giovanni finished, his teeth bared in the grin of a hunter on the trail. "Good man! Adolfo must have attended it. Did you memorise the schedules of all the concert halls?"

"Not exactly," I admitted. "I attended that performance as well. I was told to take that day off from my duties."

"And you chose to see an opera?" I felt as if he were holding back laughter.

"A cultured man is supposed to enjoy Italian opera," I replied haughtily.

He did laugh at that, but, I was glad to note, in apparent pleasure rather than ridicule. I think I would have been disappointed indeed if the man I'd decided to idolise had mocked one for such choices.

"And did you enjoy it?" he asked, playing what I recognised as the opening theme to the opera.

"The diva was extremely talented."

"You did not, then," he concluded mischievously. The violin landed on a sour note.

"Yes, sir," I answered stiffly. There did not seem to be any point in denying it.

Giovanni began to play again, as he seemed wont to do when thinking. A small smile quirked his lips. "Next time, if you don't wish to lie, say instead that you appreciated it. One can appreciate the skills and complexities involved in opera without being required to enjoy it."

"Yes, sir."

He fell silent again, coaxing thoughtful strains from the instrument on his knee. Finally he said, "It seems our next order of business, then, is to find the meaning of the red cross denoting the meeting, and how it relates to Capodecina Adolfo's fate. I will make my own inquiries; as for you, Apollo, I want you to pursue the matter in whatever way you deem appropriate. Your record speaks for your abilities in that regard."

I dropped to one knee momentarily in affirmation, then turned to leave. Giovanni's voice, "Apollo," stopped me before I could exit. I found that he was watching me with an expression that on another man might be called "soulful".

"Be wary at all times. There are unknown forces afoot, and three men have already been killed."

"Yes, sir," I nodded, and escaped before the man could capture my soul any more thoroughly.

My first thought was to comb through the organisation's records in search of anything that might hint at an association with either the red cross or Adolfo, but the idea of doing so without assistance was staggeringly impractical, even discounting my lack of security clearance. Instead, I decided that my best course of action was to tease out Adolfo's recent correspondence and search for associations there. If I could call a known number from the telephone in his office, I'd be able to track it from the computers at the Nippon Telecom headquarters in the city and from there acquire a list of calls made and received by Adolfo's office.

Thus I made my way out onto the streets again, having determined to head toward the corporate office building that the Capodecina had chosen as his local base of operations. Only a quarter hour had passed since I'd come back this way, and the knots of police were still out in throngs wherever I looked. I decided to be circumspect and take a back route rather than tempt so many officers of the law.

I had just slipped from one narrow alley to another when suddenly my body was no longer my own, the limbs frozen and unresponsive. My mouth opened of its own accord - to cry out, or to accuse my unknown assailant, I do not know - but before I could make a sound I found my lungs frozen as well, unable to draw breath or speak. As I struggled, dreamlike, from within the encroaching grey fog of my vision, thoughts flashed half-formed through my mind and vanished before I could articulate them.

With a sound like a cracking whip - no, the sound was too familiar, a gunshot! - I was abruptly released to fall to the ground, sucking in great heaving breaths. As the fog cleared from my vision, I slowly realised that the gunshot had come from the pistol in my hand. I could not recall drawing it.

Slowly my cognisance returned. I reholstered the pistol with a shaking hand and rose to my knees. On the ground before me, a few metres away, was the body of a Hypno, eyes glassy and one hand clutching uselessly at the bullet wound that had ripped open its bowels. As I approached, I realised it was still breathing in shallow snorts, though it was seemingly beyond any awareness of my presence. It was strange to realise that I recognised the creature. It had approached me before - had enacted this same scenario half a dozen times with me, though only now had my own unconscious reflexes apparently brought its end. And I - I had been blind to the fact the entire time, put through my paces like an ignorant puppet at its bidding-!

With a faint wheeze through bloodied nostrils, the Hypno fell still, its head lolling aside slightly to reveal a cross-shaped scar almost hidden under its ruff.

I had to return to Giovanni immediately. This information could not wait.


	2. Chapter 2

"So you have been a pawn against me for at least four weeks now, being subliminally controlled by an unknown agency employing psychic Pokemon."

I was on my knees before the man, hands restrained behind my back with my own cuffs. I could take no chances that an unknowing double agent like myself would not be a danger to my own master. Reflexively, despite my better intentions, I was already testing the steel against my wrists. It would take me at least thirty seconds to wriggle free, but I could trust no one else to restrain me more thoroughly, and perhaps that would give Giovanni time to shoot me down if necessary...

I took a shuddering breath. I had told him everything I knew, every memory that had been restored to my mind with the death of my manipulator. "Yes, sir."

He looked down at me with what might be mistaken for pity in his eyes. "I have been aware of this, Apollo."

I felt like my heart had cracked in two, shattered by a fissure that ran directly through its center. "Then why-" My voice cracked. "Why - how could you allow this? Why would you allow this to continue?!"

Giovanni walked around his desk to stand in front of me and took my chin with a gentle hand, forcing me to meet his eyes. Regret lined his face. "Better the enemy you know than the one you do not, Apollo. I could manipulate what information you fed to your controllers, give them the impression that I was taking actions I was not. I regret that you have been made a pawn in this war, but my hand was forced, and I made do with what tools I had been given."

"So I was never more than simply another tool." I tried to keep the bitterness from my voice and failed. My head was spinning, and I- I could not-

"No." His vehemence shocked me into clarity. "You are valuable, Apollo, one of my most valuable agents, and my pretext for bringing you close to me was a true one. It is regrettable that you killed the Hypno, that you are now no more use to me as a triple agent, but I will not forsake you because of that. We will simply adapt to the facts as they exist."

The cuffs fell to the floor behind me as my body finished acting on its own. I did not move except to shift my handbones back into place. There was no assassination attempt.

Giovanni stepped back, his expression still sympathetic. "Take the rest of the day off, Apollo. You did well. We will talk again first thing tomorrow morning."

"Yes, sir," I said pathetically, and fled.

  
I was not thinking rationally at that point. All that filled my mind among the fog of confusion and desperation was the thought that I was not in control of my actions, could not be trusted not to take some drastic action against the man to whom I pledged myself even now.

I took some comfort, at least, that I had an apartment of my own, and that the soldering iron I possessed was enough to fuse the latch and hinges of the door; and that the sole window, out of which I disposed of the instrument, was too small for me to climb in or out of. Adequately trapped, I barely made it to my bed before falling into an exhausted slumber.

My sleep was fitful and disturbed, filled with half-heard sounds and images of assailants that woke me reaching for my weapons in the dark. I woke before dawn, now faced with the puzzle I had created for myself the previous night: how to exit my apartment to meet with Giovanni as I had been instructed.

It took me forty-five minutes, a crowbar, a pair of pliers, and an impromptu flamethrower to remove the door from the wall, but I made it to Giovanni's office just as the hour rolled over to 08:00. He eyed the soot marks on my uniform without a word, instead handing me a pair of handcuffs. "You left these behind," he said mildly. I stared at my shoes.

"Attend." Giovanni laced his fingers together on the desk. "I did some investigations of my own regarding the Hypno you killed yesterday afternoon. Aside from the killing wound, the only mark on it was the scar you mentioned. The trail, unfortunately, grew cold a quarter mile from the site of your attack; had the creature been alive, I may have been able to glean more information from it. It is no matter," he interrupted me, waving off my beginnings of an apology. "We must simply find another avenue of inquiry, and we have plenty yet to search. It is quite heartening to learn that we are growing closer to learning the identity of the mysterious Mr. - or Ms. - de la Croix, but we must be cautious above all, knowing that our friend de la Croix has already been associated with at least one murder, likely three. Unfortunately, it would be quite impossible to fool our opponent into thinking that you are still under their control, so we shall be taking a different avenue. Our opponent expects me either to dispose of you or to ensure that you are incapable of working against me. It is best to assume, until we know more, that there are eyes upon both of us, so I cannot simply keep you sequestered, when you are the only one I have trusted with this investigation..." He drummed his fingers on the desk. "What do you know of conditioning?"

"I know the theory of it, sir," I replied. "I have not yet had the opportunity to put it into practice."

He stood, suddenly jovial. "Come with me. I have something to show you."

He led me underground, to a floor that required him to hold the elevator buttons for 2F, B1F, and B4F simultaneously and then extracted a prick of blood from his fingertip before finally opening the doors to us. I could not help but be impressed and somewhat apprehensive at how truly paranoid his security measures were.

I followed him through bare concrete hallways to a steel door that he unlocked with a simple key. The room inside was unfurnished but for a steel chair bolted to the concrete floor, a drain only four inches in diameter beneath it, and a counter along the left wall that held an imposing variety of tools. Alone of the areas that I had seen in the complex up to now, I could not spot a single camera in the room.

"Do you trust me, Apollo?" Giovanni asked lightly.

After a moment of hesitation weighing my options and wondering whether there could be any benefit to complete honesty in this case, I replied, "Yes, sir."

He chuckled. "I've already stated that I'd like you to be honest with me, Apollo. There's nothing for you to be afraid of here. Come, sit." Dubiously, I followed him to the indicated chair. Strapping my wrists tightly to the arms of the chair, Giovanni continued, "This is solely to provide verity to the ruse we shall be putting on for our opponents. As you have never either experienced conditioning nor administered it, I shall teach you what is necessary to pull off the act. There will be some pain, but it will be inconsequential compared to your training. I do not damage my men unnecessarily." I nodded slightly, my face impassive. "You've fooled a great many people before joining us, Apollo, and therefore I have great confidence in your abilities. Shall we begin?"

Without warning he struck my cheek with a thin steel rod. "The basis of conditioning as we practice it is negative reinforcement," he intoned, his voice ringing in the small space. "Punishment for any behaviour which even slightly deviates from that which is desired, and comfort and gentleness in reward for desired behaviour. It is the cessation of pain that is the main motivator, but the subject of the exercise will not merit it at first. They will necessarily find themselves in a state of learned helplessness before they are granted approval and respite." My cheek was beginning to swell where it had been struck, and a thin runnel of blood snaked its way toward my chin. "You are familiar with the Stockholm hostage case?"

I nodded, probing the inside of my swelling cheek. Giovanni struck me again, causing me to bite my tongue. "I asked you a question, Elite Agent."

"Yes, sir," I answered. "The basic details."

He graced me with a thin smile and continued with his lecture. "In a case where the subject can do no right, any reprieve is received with gratitude. Any comfort, any condescension or kindness, is received with devotion. Remembering the constant threat of punishment, the subject will turn toward any safe haven, any possibility of approval from their captor, as a flower turns toward the sun. You are not listening to me," he commented, raising a welt on my shoulder. I knew better than to reply. He slipped the rod under my chin, raising my head to look him in the eye. "What did I say?"

"Any comfort, any condescension or kindness, is received with devotion. Remembering the constant threat of punishment, the subject will turn toward any safe haven, any possibility of approval from their captor, as a flower turns toward the sun," I recited.

He struck me across the face. "Don't talk back to me."

This continued for a full hour, at the end of which Giovanni cupped my less-injured cheek kindly. "You're doing very well, Apollo. I have leads to investigate. You will be safe here, and rest assured that I will return tonight." Laying down the rod on the counter, he turned out the lights and left, locking me inside in the darkness.

I awoke from a light doze at Giovanni's return some time later. The sudden brightness in the room was painfully shocking after the long hours I had spent in absolute darkness. "Sleep deprivation!" Giovanni announced. "A boon to both interrogation and conditioning! Forbidden rest, even the strongest of captives become far easier to break!" I was familiar with this routine from my training. Giovanni grinned wolfishly and pointed the rod at me; I flinched obediently. "And you, Apollo. Are you broken?"

"Yes, sir," I whispered.

"Very good," he said with approval, offering me a drink of water. I drank timidly, craning toward his touch. Whatever he had learned, it had put him in a good mood. I would not disappoint him.

"I have a pay phone from which the police tip that got our friend Adolfo was made, a description of the man who used that payphone around the same time, and a townhouse where our canary reported to a very mysterious employer. The employer is quite clearly not Mr. Hiroto Matsuda, whose name is on the lease, and who is currently on tour in America without any knowledge that he is in possession of a townhouse in Tokyo at all. This man, to the contrary, has not been seen by any but his employees and correspondences since he arrived at the townhouse five weeks ago, and comes and goes in a car with heavily tinted bulletproof windows." Giovanni began to pace, tapping the rod lightly against his leg. "A spider at the centre of a very interesting web, Apollo."

"No wonder his enemies died of poison," I murmured. Giovanni heard me and grinned, but tapped my arm warningly. "No remarks like that outside this room," he cautioned me.

I smiled. "Oh, no, sir. I shall be a very good dog. Just watch, and I shall even sit and heel on command."

He returned my smile thinly. I lowered my eyes. "My apologies, sir. That was not my place," I whispered.

"Better," he replied, without expression. "Let us continue your instruction."

  
"Domenico Sarcosì declared bankruptcy and sold his remaining holdings last night," Giovanni announced when he returned some time later. Having fallen asleep again after the night's session, I assumed that it was now early morning, the start of the business day. I wondered privately when the man slept, if indeed he slept at all. Surely he had to oversee Team Rocket's activities and financials in between his own investigation.

"No one has come forward with a confirmable sighting of him since then," Giovanni continued. "Without the Capo or his lieutenants, the men are in confusion. Whoever our opponent is, he or she has either purposely destroyed the Sarcose or driven them to destruction."

"How public is this?" I inquired.

"My agents on the Sarcose know of the bankruptcy and disappearance of the Capo and capodecine. We can assume that the other families are aware of it as well, or will soon be. My agents on the police know the details of di Greppi's, Iacovelli's, and Adolfo's deaths. My lieutenants received all of these reports. Of your position as my protege, only your superiors and Admins Delta, Oberth, and Vee have been informed. Of our enemy and your current status, only the two of us are aware."

"So this cannot have been a message for my lord Giovanni alone," I said slowly. "But we were meant to take especial note of it. Someone is leading us along to some conclusion. I wonder if my discovery of the Hypno was a ploy as well. I was too distraught to realise it at first, but it is very odd that our secrecy-loving opponent would brand his Pokemon with such a distinguishing mark. But my mind was not searched between the time I found Adolfo's address-book and the attack."

"The address-book was planted," Giovanni and I said almost simultaneously.

"I would be much happier if the book itself were a forgery," Giovanni continued, beginning to pace. "If our opponent manipulated himself into Adolfo's books as de la Croix for our benefit alone..."

He left the thought dangling in the air uncompleted, and with an odd frisson I wondered if Giovanni actually thought himself outmatched.

  
Four more days had passed, as near as I could tell, and with the subject of conditioned behaviour exhausted, Giovanni had taken to instructing me in military tactics (in his words, "How do you expect to usurp me, Apollo, without the skills necessary to hold the position for more than a fortnight?") when he returned from his investigations the fourth evening in a grim humour. "Taoka-domo has been beheaded," he announced. "His body was left on the steps of the Taichō Tower, his head hanging above the door. The Gyosui-kai are preparing to go to war against the Yoshiha-gumi." He began to unbuckle my restraints as the news sank in. The Yoshiha-gumi were close allies of the Sarcose. The Gyosui-kai must have evidence that the Yoshiha-gumi had been involved in their leader's murder. Giovanni undid the last strap and helped me out of the chair. My joints almost refused to respond after being held in the same position for so long, and with an agony that I carefully made sure never reached my face. "Clean yourself up," Giovanni ordered me as he half-carried me to the door. "Our enemy has it in mind to destroy every other mafia in this region. I want you on the streets in an hour. Be careful."

The man had a brilliant ability to estimate exactly how long it would take me to recover my faculties and make it out of the base, I decided as I stepped onto the pavement almost precisely an hour later. There was a sense of heaviness to the atmosphere, as of the buildup to a storm, though the sky was clear and bright. A middle-aged man rolled an aluminum grille down over the windows of the Pokémart across the street before disappearing furtively back inside. I hoped dispassionately that those doors had a deadbolt.

I hunched my shoulders and walked quickly, hugging the walls of the buildings where possible and keeping my eyes fixed on the ground a few feet in front of me as if so determinedly minding my own business would mark me as a noncombatant once the storm broke. I headed indirectly toward the local headquarters of the Hội Tam Hoàng. As I turned off of Golden Street into an alley between two buildings, there was a sudden sickening impact against the side of my head. I believe I heard my skull crack.

I came to slowly. My first reflex was to shake the water from my ears, but the barest motion sent a bolt of white-hot pain through my skull. My hands and wrists were numb, immobile behind me. "The Kyō-gumi have already joined us," a man was saying. I could see his profile from where I kneeled about ten feet away. His skin was pale and loose, as if he inhabited an ill-fitting body, and his lips were unnervingly mobile as he spoke. "Team Rocket, of course, will take command of the remainder of any other groups who decline my invitation. My men's reports suggest that Lord Giovanni is well-suited for such a command." There was Giovanni, betraying no hint of discomfiture, standing across from the man. The blood spangling the side of my head and neck was cold in the cool air of the room. The pale man's face glistened slightly as if he were sweating. 175 cm tall and 85 kilos, heavyset. His suit was expensive but ill-fitting. I could see white gloves below the cuffs of his jacket.

"Oh? And what did you offer Koga, if I may ask?" Giovanni's voice came as if from afar. My vision blurred unsteadily and I blinked.

"Now, you know as well as I do that that kind of matter is private," he was admonished. "But I will say that he's agreed to a leadership position and full executive command over his clan's historical city. Not to mention certain healthy advantages for his family. Do you have any family, Mister Sakaki? Don't bother to answer that; I know you don't. But it's something to consider, eh?" He adjusted his gloves delicately. I could not pull my eyes away.

"The others simply didn't _understand_ ," he complained. He began to pace. "You're a patriot, Giovanni - may I call you Giovanni? You understand the troubles this country has faced, and you understand that it takes more than the conventional methods to restore a conquered society's spirit. But these men had no _vision_! They were more interested in their petty money-making schemes than in looking beyond their own self-interests to join in a greater purpose! I knew that, of course, but like an idealist I approached them anyway. Their refusal just cemented what I already knew, that I had to have someone extraordinary on my side - I had to have _you_.

"The mafias in this region are the single most powerful economic bloc, Giovanni. Working at cross purposes, they've gotten nowhere - but working _together_ , under your leadership and with my backing - you can imagine the revolution we might create, can't you? A legitimate government that holds the trainers, the protectors of the citizenry, above all, that regulates and most of all _encourages_  talented Pokemon trainers to hone their skills, to give people something to believe in, something to root for - I believe that will revive Japan's spirit. Heroes, Giovanni. This country needs heroes more than anything else. Combine that with a refuge for those unable to adapt to the new world, a refuge with its own vivid purpose...a place for everyone, Giovanni, and everyone in their place. That is my dream. You understand, don't you?"

"If I said no?" Giovanni asked steadily.

The man finally looked in my direction and arranged his mouth into a smile. His eyes were vibrantly blue. "Ah, well, that's where your man Apollo comes in. My sincerest apologies for the inconvenience, by the way. Cezary, I'm afraid, takes his orders rather seriously and without the faintest idea of moderation." His eyes flickered momentarily to someone standing behind me, and his mouth quirked as if he were enjoying a joke. Turning back to Giovanni, he continued lightly, "I will make you a proposition only twice. If you refuse my first offer, I will be forced to cut the lad's throat. I will then make you a revised offer, in light of our respective bargaining positions. I would truly regret being unable to entice the famed Giovanni to my vision." Quick as lightning, his regretful demeanour became jolly again and he added, "The last man Scyther killed, well, his head almost came clean off! We actually had to finish the job for the sake of appearances."

Giovanni's eyes flickered for the briefest of moments and I realised calmly that I was about to die. A wide insect-wing blade rested lightly at my throat. I stared straight ahead at nothing.

"Release my man," Giovanni said bitterly, though his face showed nothing. "Is it not enough that you threaten me and my organisation? Here I am, as you planned all along. There's no need for this - this coercion."

The man stretched his lips into the facsimile of a smile and gestured in my direction. The blade was taken away and the man behind me pulled me to my feet by the back of my collar. Our host held out his hand toward Giovanni like a lady presenting it to be kissed. Giovanni looked at it skeptically and said, "And how shall I address my esteemed employer?"

The man laughed brightly, as if my master had just become his star pupil. "Yes, that is a good question, isn't it?" he mused. "Yes - Hall, I think. I quite like that. Mr. N. H. K. Hall. That's where we first encountered each other, after all, isn't it? Our own little private joke. I've been looking forward to a new letterhead in any case. Oh, don't look at me like I'm such a villain, Giovanni. This is all for the good of Japan, is it not? There are no villains here, simply men doing bad things for very good reasons indeed. Businessmen shake."

As Giovanni shook the white-gloved hand de la Croix offered him and my captor pulled me away, my eyes met his for just a moment - just enough for me to realise that this had always been his true plan, and that I had always been the sacrificial pawn.


End file.
